


My Ugly Christmas Sweater Brings All the Boys to the Yard

by runningwithdinosaurs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, Frottage, Getting Together, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, holiday parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningwithdinosaurs/pseuds/runningwithdinosaurs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles stood awkwardly in the corner, doing his best to become one with the wall, and hoped that his sweater blended in well enough with the poinsettia-covered wreath hanging next to him as to render him invisible to his well-dressed fellow party-goers.</p>
<p>The party-goers wearing sparkling cocktail dresses, slick suits and fancy shoes.</p>
<p>While Stiles wore a bright neon green sweater emblazoned with a Santa Claus face that looked more like the unholy child of Gilbert Gottfried and Satan than a jolly old elf.</p>
<p>(The one where Stiles wears a hideous holiday sweater to a fancy Christmas party. And Derek does too. Feelings ensue.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Ugly Christmas Sweater Brings All the Boys to the Yard

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt: "we both wore ugly sweaters to this christmas party because the invitation didn’t say it’s formal au" from [this post](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/post/104232336300/captainasexual-fun-holiday-aus-for-you-to) on tumblr. I couldn't help myself. "Off Script" still exists, I swear.

Stiles stood awkwardly in the corner, doing his best to become one with the wall, and hoped that his sweater blended in well enough with the poinsettia-covered wreath hanging next to him as to render him invisible to his well-dressed fellow party-goers.

To be perfectly clear, his attire was not Stiles’s fault. Lydia had thrown an ugly sweater party last Christmas, insisting it was all the rage, and had strong armed Stiles into buying possibly the single most hideous piece of clothing to exist in the world. Ever.

So, when he’d gotten the invitation to Lydia’s book launch/holiday party at her publishing house, he’s thought nothing of pulling the putrid polyblend from the back of his closet. Lydia would be proud of him getting a second wear out of a low-use item. He’d actually been excited.

And then he’d walked into the party.

The party full of people wearing sparkling cocktail dresses, slick suits and fancy shoes.

A hush had fallen over the room as Stiles stood in the doorway, gaping, his bright neon green sweater emblazoned with a Santa Claus face that looked more like the unholy child of Gilbert Gottfried and Satan than a jolly old elf, with pink “Ho Ho Ho”s floating around his ghastly face and drawing every eye in the room.

So he’d hidden in his corner and hadn’t ventured out since. Luckily, Lydia was MIA, because Stiles was pretty sure she’d actually kill him—like cut him into little pieces, burn the pieces, and then dance on the ashes kill him—since he’d never bothered to read the e-mail invitation she’d forwarded him…?

No one else had approached him either, which usually would have bothered him, but tonight, he was kind of glad for it.

He was pretty sure people were translating his Santa’s “Ho Ho Ho”s into “No No No”s. And he was fine with that.

Though, the mini hot dog station (he was pretty sure they were supposed to be gourmet sausages, but whatever) looked _amazing_ and the cookies were so pretty and... was that a chocolate fountain?

Holy crap.

Stiles had to rethink the corner. Maybe he could sneak out and return in more suitable clothing? But he was forty minutes from home. Maybe he could run to a nearby store and buy something? But he was a poor grad student subsisting on ramen. Maybe he could…

His roving, planning eyes locked onto the newest occupant of the corner opposite him and the absolute _abomination_ standing there. Not the guy, the guy was actually pretty gorgeous, but his _cardigan_. It was covered with prancing reindeer that looked more like dinosaurs (and they were...breathing fire?). It was actually worse than Stiles’s demon Santa.

And the buttons running up the front were _jingle bells_.

Stiles was pretty sure he was in love.

The guy, who had been staring morosely down into his drink, must have felt Stiles’s gaze on him, because he looked up, caught Stiles’s eyes and scowled.

Stiles’s mouth dropped open. They were the only schmucks wearing ugly sweaters at this party and they were going to be mean to each other? That wouldn’t stand! Stiles braced himself and left his corner, marching straight for Jingle Bell Guy.

Who promptly walked away. Stiles watched his retreating back, his neck heating up at the thought that even his fellow hideous-holiday-attire-wearer didn’t want to be near him.

And then the evening went from bad to worse.

“ _Stiles_?”

With a shudder and a then shrug, because it might as well happen, Stiles turned and smiled weakly. “Hey, Lyds.”

“When I taught you about a functional wardrobe and how you should buy pieces that you can wear with many things, this is _not_ what I meant,” Lydia said faux-calmly, her eye almost twitching with suppressed rage.

Usually Stiles would argue. Usually Stiles would defend himself to his last breath. And then usually Stiles would concede to Lydia, because she was always right.

But just then, with his hot sweater twin abandoning him, Stiles felt the fight go out of him. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have read the e-vite.”

Lydia’s right brow rose, betraying how shocked she was. “The invitation didn’t specify. It was implied.” She paused. “Are you ok?”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah.” Then he shook his head, “No.”

Lydia sighed. “What happened?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and looked off into the middle distance. “I saw someone else wearing a horrible sweater and he was hot. When I went to go over, he ran away.”

“Did he have a metaphorical rain cloud hanging over his beautiful head?”

Stiles thought back to the gorgeous fashion victim. He’d definitely been getting his brood on. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “That’s the Associate Editor, Derek Hale. He lost a bet and had to show up like that.”

“Oh.” Stiles’s heart sank. Of course he’d wanted nothing to do with Stiles, who’d shown up of his own free will looking like a social reject. Derek had been forced.

“Derek doesn’t play well with others,” Lydia added. “Now go back and hide in your corner, so _I_ can go back to pretending I don’t know you.” She wiggled her fingers at him and flounced away, her royal blue dress swishing enticingly as she walked.

Stiles slunk back to his little corner, stopping on the way to dip a few marshmallows and cookies in the chocolate fountain. Horrendous sweater or not, he was only human.

As he was munching on his goodies a few minutes later, he almost dropped his plate when someone slid in next to him. “Can I join you?” Jingle Bell Guy...Derek Hale... asked, looking disarmingly unsure.

“Go for it, dude,” Stiles smiled. “Chocolatey goodness?” He held out his plate to Derek, who shook his head. “Your loss.”

“I apologize if my avoiding you earlier hurt your feelings,” Derek seemed to have to force out. “Lydia Martin found me in the courtyard and yelled at me for five minutes.”

The hope that had been blooming in his chest immediately died. “Oh,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry about that. Lydia can be kinda scary.”

“She’s _terrifying_ ,” Derek clarified. He looked sideways at Stiles, who was staring intently as his plate. “But she was right and I’m glad she pointed it out. Us ugly sweater-wearers have to stick together.”

When Stiles glanced back up, Derek had a small, tentative smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Yours _is_ terrible,” he agreed hesitantly.

Derek’s smile grew. “Yours is worse. I’m Derek, by the way.”

“I know,” Stiles blurted, and at Derek’s raised eyebrows, he hurried to add, “Oh god, that’s so creepy. I only know because Lydia and I were talking about you.” Derek’s eyebrows went impossibly higher. “Oh god, that sounds even worse! She just told me about the bet you lost, that’s all. I’m not a weirdo stalker, I swear!”

By the end of his one-man conversational implosion, Derek was smiling again. “Stiles, chill out.”

“Sorry, I just tend to- hey, wait! How do you know _my_ name?” Stiles countered, getting his lather up.

“Lydia and I were talking about you, remember?”

Stiles deflated. “Oh yeah, that’s true.”

They stood there for the next twenty minutes, swapping scary Lydia stories, comparing Christmas traditions and eventually trading tales about jobs, friends and life. They laughed a lot more than Stiles had expected. Derek was kind of awesome.

“Why are we still hiding in the corner?” Derek asked abruptly.

Stiles snorted, “I don’t know, maybe because I’m the social pariah who has demon Santa on his chest? And you’re the one crazy enough to be seen with me?”

Derek’s eyes drifted down to said Santa, and if they lingered a little, Stiles was sure it was just because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horror. “No reason to hide in the corner.”

“I was glared at until I hid myself,” Stiles shrugged. “At least you have a reason.”

Derek laughed. “Yes, my reason is so noble. I made a stupid bet that I could finish my edits to a hundred thousand word manuscript by this morning. Spoiler alert, I didn’t,” he added dryly.

Stiles grinned. “Well, I say it’s kismet. This,” he motioned between them, “awesome conversation full of word vomit and childlike delight wouldn’t be happening otherwise.”

Derek’s light gaze darkened as it focused on Stiles’s flapping hand. “That’s very true. Do you want me to show you a better place to hide than this corner? Just so no one’s retinas burn out because of our sweaters, of course.”

Stiles’s dick definitely twitched at Derek’s intense look. “Lead on, sir.”

***

“ _Definitely_ kismet,” Stiles gasped as Derek pushed him more firmly against the wall of the building.

Derek grinned and dove in to run kisses up his neck. Stiles moaned and threaded his fingers through Derek’s now unruly hair.

Derek had led Stiles out to the courtyard, listened patiently while Stiles detailed the history of the courtyard as an outdoor space, let him get up to enclosed courtyards and rant about how if there’s a glass ceiling, it doesn’t count anymore, people, come on… where he finally cut him off with his lips. Stiles had squeaked, sincerely not expecting it even if little Stiles had already gotten on board, and bunched his hands in Derek’s reindeer sweater.

Derek’s lips trailed across his jaw line and back up to his mouth. Stiles grinned into the kiss and deepened it, pulling Derek impossibly closer with the hands buried in his hair. He tilted Derek’s head just right and caressed Derek’s tongue with his own. Wet sounds filled the air and it was Derek’s turn to moan.

Derek wedged his leg between Stiles’s and rolled his hips, drawing shudders from both of them. “Oh my god,” Stiles gasped out when their lips broke apart, “I might just have to build a shrine to ugly Christmas sweaters now.”

“Why’s that?” Derek asked, again nuzzling into his neck.

Stiles shrugged. “Because it helped me find you.” And then he snapped his mouth shut, afraid he’d given too much away, that he’d let on that he was hoping this was more than a hook-up, because no one had intrigued him as much as Derek Hale had in a long time.

But Derek smiled. “Amen to that.” His mouth turned down. “I actually might have lied to you,” Derek added hesitantly.

Stiles tensed up. “About what?”

“I actually love my sweater. And yours,” he whispered, running his hand down Stiles’s side.

Stiles grinned. “I’m pretty fond of them, too.”

“Then you have to come home with me,” Derek smirked lecherously, punctuating the request with a dirty grind of his hips.

“Oh, and why is that?” Stiles countered, moving his hands down to cup Derek’s ass.

Derek leaned close and pressed his lips to Stiles’s ear. “Because I have a whole closet full of ugly Christmas sweaters. And I _love_ to play dress-up.”

Stiles almost bit through his lip in anticipation. “Holy fuck, what are we waiting for?”

***

(Derek has twenty-nine ugly Christmas sweaters. He models them all for Stiles over the next few weeks. And Stiles has the pleasure of peeling him out of each and every one.) **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed. come [tumble](http://runwiththisdinosaur.tumblr.com/) with me.


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